


Matched

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, mostly T with one E chapter, superpower au, superpowered soulmate AU, written before 2Mask2Murderous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: Finding your soulmate isn't all it's cracked up to be. Once you've met your Match, you develop supernatural powers, and suddenly you're on all sorts of government watch lists in case you turn villain. As a thief, that kind of attention might pose a problem for Peter Nureyev. In fact, he's probably better off without his soulmate.Then he meets Juno Steel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A while back, my friend Kya came up with a new soulmate AU: when you meet your soulmate, you both develop superpowers.  
> She asked me to write this ages ago, and I’m finally doing it.
> 
> (I’m also counting this toward @vfdbeatrice‘s request to have Juno punched in the face, because he deserved it during the Juno Isn’t Dead series)

The punch catches me square in the chest, and I go limp. Only the most brutish of gangsters will keep kicking someone when he’s already unconscious; more often than that, they’ll focus their attention on the detective who is actually fighting back. And while they’re otherwise occupied, I can slip away, grab the Mask out of Juno’s safe, and get back to Miasma. I won’t even have to worry about dodging Dark Matters– once they find Juno’s body, they’ll assume I’ve met the same fate at the Triad’s hands. It’s all wrapped up so neatly I could put a bow on it.

I should get right to it.

I should. There’s nothing standing in my way. 

Though… I could save Juno beforehand. It might complicate matters, but not by all that much. I just need to take the Mask while he isn’t looking, that’s all. Or while he’s in the hospital– judging by the beating they’re giving him, he’ll need quite a lot of rest when all this is done. Maybe I’ll send him flowers. Some nice chocolates, if his mouth doesn’t have to be wired shut.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Juno grunts over his shoulder, and he throws another punch.

“Who’s he talking to?” one of the bouncers asks.

“The hell?” the other one says, squinting right at me. “Where’d the other one go?” 

Rather dense, these two, aren’t they? I’m laying right here.

“That’s right, Rex, keep antagonizing them.” Juno drives his knee into the smaller one’s gut, and the brute falls back, winded. “Would it kill you to help me out?” 

I know his back is turned to me, but does he not realize that I’m supposed to be unconscious? 

“Yeah, well, you’d be a hell of a lot more convincing if you learned how to shut up.” 

But that doesn’t make sense. I haven’t said a word since that oaf punched me.

“Yeah? You tell that to–” A hammer fist catches Juno on the side of the head, and he goes down hard. Before he can scrape himself off the floor, the larger of the brutes is on top of him. He grabs Juno off the ground, a knife to his throat.

“You think you’re so clever, hiding away like that,” the mobster says. “But we’ve still got your little friend here. Come out, or I start cutting off pieces.”

It’s a ruse, isn’t it? The same one I pulled with Mag all those years ago– make them think that we have backup, so I can sneak up and rescue him. I wish he’d have told me about it before we got into this mess, but I’ll take what I can get. The moment both mobsters are looking away from me, I slip to my feet, padding soundlessly behind the one with a knife. I pull my own box cutter out of my pocket.

“How about his ear, huh?” he says, repositioning his blade. “Or maybe his nose? Or how about his eye–” 

He turns, and suddenly he’s staring straight at me. 

Except he isn’t. His eyes are focused into the middle distance, vaguely around chest height.

“You see something?” the other one wheezes. He’s looking in the same direction– right at me. Right _past_ me.

The one with the knife raises his voice. “I think we have a winner. Come out right now, or your detective loses an eye!”

But I’m right here. Less than three feet away from him.

He can’t see me.

But that can’t be right. It can’t. I’m Unmatched. I know that. I was tested when I arrived at the spaceport on Mars, just like everyone else– I don’t have powers. I–

I look down. Juno’s eyes are wide, but not because of the knife coming for his eye. He looks like he’s had an epiphany.

Maybe I have, too.

I grab the gangster’s hand and slice across the base of his wrist, severing veins and tendons alike. He drops the knife, and it clatters uselessly to the floor with no more harm than a small cut on Juno’s cheek. While the thug shrieks in pain, I grab him by the hair and carve through his throat. He dies in seconds. 

The other one is on his feet and running. If he gets out the door, he’ll have reinforcements swarming on us by the hundreds. He makes it up four stairs before my knife sinks into his kidney. He drops, my knife still embedded in his back. It doesn’t reappear until it fully leaves my hand.

I swallow, and then look up. 

_Are you alright, Juno?_

“Fine,” he says, dragging himself out from under the body of the other mobster. “Way to cut it close, though. You took your sweet time.” 

“My apologies,” I say, finally opening my mouth. My voice echoes oddly in the large, empty basement.

Juno notices, too. “What the hell was that?” 

It’s funny. All that time I thought he was exceptionally perceptive. That perhaps my thoughts were written across my body language or something of the sort. 

But that isn’t it at all, is it?

_Is it, Juno?_

“You’re not actually saying any of that, are you?” he asks quietly. 

Juno’s Unmatched, too. I made sure of it before I stepped into his office, in case he had any powers that might prove troublesome for me. 

Or at least, he _was_.

But right now I’m invisible, and he’s reading my mind. He’s been reading my mind since I met him. 

Because he’s my Match. My soulmate.

“You weren’t seriously going to let them kill me just now, were you?” he asks. Judging by the incredulous glare he’s fixing on me, he can see me again. “And who the hell is Miasma?”  

This might become a problem.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captured by Miasma, Juno and Peter are separated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scarletclarinet asked:  
> *whispers* superpower soulmate au, Peter turns invisible frequently between Angel of Brahma and Final Resting Place, and during Final Resting Place, to make sure Juno is still alive (because PAIN)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm well aware that I randomly changed tenses between the last chapter and this one. That sort of thing tends to happen when I write stories the way I do. I do hope you indulge me.

I woke up not to a sound, but to a feeling: a gentle, radiant warmth that wrapped around me like a blanket. 

I knew that feeling well enough by now to identify it. My eyes opened, but I didn’t sit up. I didn’t dare.

There were cameras everywhere. Even if they couldn’t spot Nureyev, they could still see me reacting to him. If they did, all of the doors in this section of the tomb would lock and the masked Assistants would search every inch of the floor.

It had happened once already, and Nureyev had barely escaped alive. By all rights, he shouldn’t have come back at all after that, but here he was.

 _Oh, Juno._ His thoughts were tender and gentle, but stained with worry. _You look terrible._

He shouldn’t be here. It was too dangerous for him to be here, but I couldn’t tell him that without making things even worse.

Or maybe I could– if I laid at the far end of the cell, I might be able to get the message across. Instead I stayed right here, pressed against the bars. He couldn’t get through the cell door, but he could reach between the bars to touch me. 

_Just look at you, love. You’re wasting away. Is she even feeding you anymore?_

A gentle hand smoothed over my face, lingering over a beard I hadn’t been able to shave for weeks. Wordlessly he noted how pronounced my cheekbones were getting. I looked gaunt through his eyes.

For a moment his loving warmth flared into protective outrage, and I caught flashes of what he’d do if he ever got his hands on Miasma. Old woman or not, she was going to pay for doing this to me.

To _me,_  like I hadn’t felt her torture him from inside his own mind. He’d tried to protect me from that, too, reciting old poems in his head so he wouldn’t beg me to _please make it stop_. 

I pretended to scratch an itch on my cheek, and my hand brushed against his. I caught one of his fingers in mine and tugged him close, pressing my lips to his palm. It wasn’t enough. I could only excuse a few seconds of contact before I folded my hand across my chest again. 

When he was stuck in here with me, at least we were able to touch each other. We’d slept curled against one another, my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. Don’t get me wrong, I was glad he was out there and able to move freely, safe from Miasma’s experiments and torture, but I ached for contact. I wanted to reach out to touch him, just to hold his goddamn hand.

My hand was clenched into a fist across my chest, and another hand folded over it. With the gesture came that same feeling I always got when he thought at me: warmth and comfort and love.

_Don’t give up on me, Juno. I’ve got a plan. I just need a little more time._

He gave my hand a squeeze. 

_I’ll get you out of here. I promise I will._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he's Matched, Peter can't safely leave Mars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catachrestic-catastrophe asked:  
> Could you do more of the superpower soulmate au? But like a happy post-season 1?

I can hear my own voice bouncing around inside Nureyev’s head.

_The adventures you were talking about, bouncing from star to star? Leaving this dump behind and seeing what the galaxy’s got to offer… I wish we got the chance to do all that, Nureyev. If I’ve got one regret, it’s that._

It’s not just my own regret that I’m feeling right now. It’s rolling off him in waves. It turns out it doesn’t matter what I said down there, because it’s not that simple.

Sure, a single Unmatched man can go gallivanting across the galaxy as much as he wants. Even two of them.

But we’re Matched, and that’s going to show up at the screening of every single spaceport we set foot in. Every single government building. Every single place with an ounce of security. Governments and transit authorities share that kind of information– it follows you everywhere, coded to your blood and your match and your goddamn DNA. That’s a little bit harder to fake than a bit of paperwork. Just like that, his precious anonymity is gone.

“You can still leave Mars,” I tell him quietly. “There have to be smugglers somewhere who will be willing to take you.”

The last word echoes inside his head. 

 _You_.

_Not us._

Because sure, there are some smugglers willing to take human cargo, but they’re going to be expensive, and every single one comes with the risk that they’re gonna be turned in. Nureyev might be able to escape capture on his own. But together?

Well, we’ve just seen how well that works out, haven’t we? I’m not nearly as slippery as he is, and that makes me a liability. And Nureyev’s just proved that he won’t leave me behind, even if it means saving himself.

Nureyev’s voice is nonchalant, but the feeling coming off him is wounded. “If that’s what you want.”

“I didn’t say that,” I say quickly. “I’m just… there are options. You don’t have to be…” There’s no other way to say it. “Stuck here. On Mars.” 

I can feel Nureyev cringe even though he doesn’t show it. He’s been here for almost eight months, stealing artifacts for Miasma. Pretty soon it’ll hold the record for the longest he’s been on any planet since he left Brahma. The rest are so beautiful that he can’t wait to see them all, to take in as much of the galaxy as he can, one incredible sight after another. 

But that’s been snatched away from him. And I may not have done it on purpose, but I can’t help but feeling like it’s my fault. I’m the one who took that incredible future from him. 

“I have had some time to consider my options,” Nureyev admits. “Mars isn’t such a small world, after all. There are plenty of undeserving triillionaires who need to be deprived of their ill-gotten gains, enough colonies that I could abscond to if my face becomes too easily recognized. It wouldn’t be so terrible, spending the rest of my life here.” He hesitates. “And you’d be here.” 

“You sure that’s something you want to put in the ‘positives’ column?” 

“As a matter of fact, it’s the first thing on the list.” His voice turns serious, and the words are so careful and clear that it takes me a moment to realize he didn’t say them out loud. _I’m not entirely certain I could bear it without you._

That’s…

Honestly, I don’t know what to think of that. I tend to make bad situations worse– it’s kind of my signature thing. The farther I am away from people, the better off they are. I’d think he was lying or something, except I can feel the raw need coming off him in waves. And something else: dread. 

Because he wasn’t kidding– the fact that he’s trapped on Mars has been gnawing at him for months. And every time he looked for a bright side to all of this, it always looked like…

Like me.

As much as I want to laugh in his face and tell him he’s pinned his chance of happiness to a fucking black hole of a human being, I can’t do that to him. I can’t crush his hope like that. 

I clear my throat. “Well. If you need a place to stay, there’s always my apartment.”

I don’t have a chance to second-guess my decision before I’m caught in the wave of second-hand relief. He wants to throw his arms around me so badly that it takes a moment to realize that he hasn’t– he’s just very, very close.

“That would be _greatly_ appreciated.” 

Even without reading his mind, I think I know how he’s planning to thank me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are certain unsung benefits to having telepathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's NSFW.

_Oh, God, **Juno** …_

I’m not even listening for anything– Peter’s thoughts are just that _loud_. I can hear them before I’m halfway down the he hall. When I actually shift my attention to him, I stagger sideways, grabbing at the wall for support. My knees seem to have forgotten how to hold me. My legs feel like jelly; my cock, on the other hand, is suddenly rock hard.

I can feel his hands wrapped around his length, pumping himself as if he was pumping me. 

He wishes he had his hands on me. His lust is so potent I can taste it, feel it like a fog in the air. Smell myself when he presses his face into my pillow. I can see myself in his mind’s eye– he’s picturing me on my knees, pulling my lips off his cock for just long enough to beg him for more. 

 _Please_ , whispers the figment of his imagination. _Peter, please, I need you…_

I can feel Peter’s grin stretching across my own face. He’s enjoying that, almost as much as he enjoys picturing me on the bed, my hands fisted in the sheets while my legs part for him. 

He descends between the figment’s legs, biting down on the tender skin of the inner thigh. My dick throbs at the thought; in Peter’s imagination, the figment yelps and writhes. 

I bite my lip to keep from moaning. _Jesus, Peter, wait till I’m out of the hallway before you take me apart._

I have to drag myself along the wall, not entirely trusting my legs to carry me by themselves. I dig through my pockets for the keys, but the feel of the metal teeth against my fingers is enough sensation to light my nerves on fire. I need to be touched. I need to be fucked, and _hard_. 

I barely manage to shut the door behind me before I sink to my knees. He’s pumping himself harder now, and I can feel every micron of pressure tight around my dick. I can see him through his own eyes, his cock disappearing inside of me over and over again, his whole mind alight with a primal hunger until I’m high off the fumes. 

He buries himself deep inside me, and I finally let out the howl I’ve been holding in all this time. _More_. I just need a little bit more, _goddammit_.

Instead he eases off, and that glorious pressure around my cock falls away. My howl turns into a needy whine. He can’t be done already. He can’t leave me like this. 

The fantasy changes. He’s staggering from the bedroom and down the hall, and there’s the figment, collapsed in front of the doorway, hands scrabbling for purchase against the floor, ass in the air like a goddamn offering, looking completely wrecked. Another wave of lust washes over me, so intense I might just drown in it. 

I think I’d like that. 

 _Oh, Juno…_ He laughs, dark and rich as mulled wine. _Come here._

And then I feel his hands– not the secondhand sensation of him touching himself, not the fantasy of him holding down the figment, but his hands on my skin. 

I stagger into him, half-blind with need. I kiss him like a man dying of thirst; the feeling of his satisfaction leaves me drunk and giddy. 

His hands are doing something to my clothes– bit by bit I can feel them falling away, until there’s only his bare skin against mine as we fall into the bed. 

 _What do you need, Juno?_ he asks, his mouth descending to my throat. I’m too busy gasping to give a reply. 

 _What do you need?_ He bites down on my hip, playful and commanding all at once, and it lights up my mind like a shower of sparks. 

“You.” I’m panting. My fingers tangle in the sheets. My legs part like they did in his fantasy, inviting him in. “I need you in me.” 

His eyes darken. His arousal floods my senses, until it’s almost difficult to feel his fingers working me open. 

I don’t know if I’m so hard it hurts, or if that’s him, but I can’t wait any longer. I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against him. He catches my hips in his hands, holding me steady as he lines himself up and pushes inside.

It’s like somebody set off a firecracker inside my head. I can feel it all at once– the sweet stretch of being filled and the hot tightness wrapped around his cock. My writhing and wailing is driving him insane, and his passion is ramping me up even higher. I can’t separate his feelings from my own anymore, and it’s overwhelming. It’s incredible.

I don’t know which one of us comes first– only that I’m washed away in the surge of it, and I never want to come up for air. 

Slowly it settles, the surging lust replaced with a soft, sleepy fondness. It takes the last bits of my concentration to realize that Peter’s wiping me down with a soft cloth, and not just himself– my sensations are still too intertwined with his. When he presses a cool glass to a pair of lips, I have to think for a moment before I realize he’s waiting on me to take a sip. The water is sweet and soothing against my parched throat. 

Only after he’s made sure I’m taken care of does he snuggle tight against my side, his arms wrapped around my waist, and murmur the question he’s been eager to ask since we finished:

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voices in Juno's head are too loud sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eternalgirlscout asked:  
> how does juno's power work in the soulmate au? can he only read nureyev's mind or is peter's just especially noticeable to him?

Sleep is hard at first.

That’s what happens when you can suddenly read minds and you live in an apartment building with more than a hundred other occupants. 

Sure, it’s easy enough to tune them out during the day, when you can blend them all into the ambient chatter of a crowd. But then night comes, and slowly minds blink into unconsciousness, one after another. As the number of voices goes down, each individual one becomes more distinct– and as it turns out, I’m not the only one whose thoughts get darker as the night gets later. Three in the morning is the hour of the overworked and miserable: the college student who’s up studying until the words stop making sense in her own head; the little old man who counts the cans in his pantry and wonders how he’ll make them last until he gets his next social security check, the single parent who tries to look carefree for their kids while they’re wearing away into nothing. It’s bad enough dealing with my own issues without getting caught up in somebody else’s spiral. 

For weeks after I met Peter Nureyev, I can only manage to sleep after I’ve driven himself into exhaustion. Eventually I train myself to tune them out into a faint hum, and then to shut them out entirely, but it takes a constant effort to make that happen. Even then, sometimes other people still manage to slip into my dreams.

It’s wearing on me. I’m used to going with a few short hours of sleep– hell, when I was fresh out of the Academy I pulled all-nighters all the time– but I’m thirty-eight and my body can’t take this for much longer. What I need right now is rest. Real rest. You’d think that between Sasha’s promotion and Vicky’s ex, I’ll have covered my quota on stressful situations for a while, but I know better.

These things always come in threes. Right now the best I can hope for is that whatever happens next will come and go while I’m passed out in bed.

It takes less effort than usual to keep out the ambient voices as I trudge out of the elevator and into the hallway. Maybe it’s because it’s after goddamn midnight and most people are asleep for once. Maybe it’s because I’m so tired that nothing else is seeping through.

_– should be here any minute now. Assuming he didn’t need to stop anywhere along the way? Vicky didn’t say anything about him being hurt–_

Only one voice seeps through, and instinctively I try to shove it out of my head while I’m digging for my keys. It’s a loud one, though, and clearer than most. Funny, really. It almost sounds like…

Realization dawns on me just as I push open the door.

“Hello, Juno.”

* * *

The hotel must be soundproofed or something. And yeah, that makes sense, rich people have a lot of secrets and a lot of money to spend on things to keep those secrets a secret, but you’d think that they wouldn’t necessarily know to soundproof against _mindreading_. I don’t even know how you’d go about doing something like that. Where would you even start? Lead sheets in the wall, maybe? I’m pretty sure that would violate health codes.

But despite the fact that this resort is about as packed as a high-rise apartment building, it’s weirdly quiet inside my head. Sure, other people’s thoughts are there, but it barely takes anything to shut them out. 

All but one.

I don’t notice until I step out to call Rita. At first I’m glad to be rid of Nureyev and the hurt and resignation that’s radiating from him. The farther I go down the hall, the softer his voice gets, and the more it gets lost in the chatter of other voices in the surrounding rooms. I duck out onto the fire escape, but the fact that I’m alone makes no difference. It still feels like I’m in the middle of a rush hour crowd.

I try leaving a message to Rita, but my sentences are rambling and convoluted, because I can’t hear myself think anymore. Before I can spit out a single coherent thought, the voicemail ends my message. I stare at my comms in frustration for a few moments, debating whether I should call her back and try again.

Would it make any difference? I don’t think I’d be any clearer the second time. Besides, she probably gets the idea.

My knuckles tighten around the classy cast iron of the fire escape’s hand rail. Now that Nureyev has his coordinates, he doesn’t need me anymore. The garage isn’t too far from here. I could grab my car and go, and then drive out into the desert. Sure, it’s cold and desolate and completely empty, but at least it’d be quiet. 

Too quiet, sure, but right now I’ll take what I can get. 

Instead, I make my way back to the room Nureyev rented for us. 

I’m maybe three rooms down before his mind rises above the noise. It’s an oddly melodious mind: the main tune is steady and even, going through the routines of evening ritual. Every now and again it’s interrupted with staccato stabs of worry or hurt or anxiety, but just as quickly they’re tamped down and pushed to the back of his mind. The elements are still there, but they’re no longer driving the song. 

How does he do that?

The anxiety hits a crescendo when I open the door. I can feel him carefully positioning himself so he can grab the knife on his thigh in a single motion, and the mental list he’s making of people who might be coming through the door, along with plans of what he’s going to do for each one.

I raise my voice. “Hey, Rose. I’m back.”

The anxiety drains away, but the tension stays behind. He may not be worried about me trying to kill him, but he’s still bracing for the next accusation, or the next slap in the face, or the next…

Okay, so maybe I’ve been a bit shitty to him.

He’s still in the bathroom, washing his face. With most people I only really get surface thoughts and extreme feelings, but I can feel the cold water on Nureyev’s face and the sting of soap in his eyes.

There’s a door between us. That’s probably for the best. It’s easier when I don’t have to look him in the eyes.

“Hey, Rose?” I say, loud enough that he can hear me through the door. “Listen. I know I’m not–” Ugh. What am I trying to say, even? I’d blame it on the ambient voices, but they’ve all blended into an unintelligible babble. “You put yourself on the line for me earlier. I can be a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but I do appreciate it. You… We make a good team.”

I’m not even sure if it counts as an apology– and if it does, it’s a shitty one– but Nureyev’s dread softens.

He opens the door with a smile so alluring that you’d think he’d forgotten the whole thing. I can feel the reality underneath, but I go along with his facade. 

“Why, Detective. Does that mean you’re actually going to try trusting me?” 

A part of me wants to tell him no, just because I’m an asshole. Instead I manage a grudging, “It means I’m thinking about it.” 

His smile warms – and Jesus, how does he look _just as good_ without a full face of makeup?– but he doesn’t make anything of it.

“I’m finished in the bathroom if you need it,” he says, slipping past me.

I can feel him as I get ready for bed. Maybe that should be a bit more uncomfortable than it is, but mostly it’s just… nice. A companionable silence, or close to it. The other voices are so far gone that they feel almost like they’re on the other side of a concrete wall. I can’t even feel awkward about slipping into the bed beside him; after all, he’d feel just as close if one of us were to curl up on the couch for the night, and I’d still be feeling sore and achey afterward either way. We might as well use the big fancy bed while we’ve got it, right?

That’s all it is: purely practical, and nothing at all to do with the warm affection that rises from Nureyev when I lie down next to him.

For the first night in six months, I fall asleep without a fight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter notices how tired Juno gets when he's away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> If your not too busy maybe you could do another superpowered soulmate au where peter notices how tired juno is whenever he gets back from a trip but juno tries to hide the fact that he cant sleep without peter around cause he doesnt want him to feel guilty

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Positive. Peter, _I’m fine_.” 

I know I don’t look fine. I haven’t looked in a mirror in days, but Peter’s taking inventory in his head: the circles under my eyes are dark enough that they almost look like they’re tattooed on; my skin is oily and grimy from god-only-knows how many days I’ve gone without a shower; he can smell cheap whiskey on my skin and on my breath and on clothes that I probably should probably have washed before I put them back on. 

That part worries him. I don’t drink nearly as much as I used to– for the most part. But then he leaves Hyperion City on his little business trips, and I can’t help it. Without him around, the other voices are too loud, too much. Booze is the only thing that dulls them enough that I can sleep.  

But he doesn’t need to know that. 

It’s bad enough as it is, feeling the waves of concern radiating off him. He’s worried if I’m sick. He’s wondering if something happened to send me on a one-way trip to the bottom of a bottle. He’s concerned that I didn’t say something to him, and concerned that maybe I couldn’t.

“Nothing happened,” I tell him. “This is just a… a thing. It happens sometimes. It’s nothing to get worked up over, really. I just didn’t get a chance to clean up before you got home, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting you back today.” 

“An opportunity presented itself, and I took it,” he says with more calm than he feels. His thoughts are anxious:  _Was he planning to hide it from me?_

“It’s not like that,” I say hastily. “I’m just a slob sometimes when you’re not around. It’s not a big deal.”

It occurs to me a second too late that the more I insist it’s not a big deal, the more convinced he is that it really is. I should just drop it, and maybe he can stop worrying about me.

 _Juno_ –

“Alright.” Abruptly the torrent of his thoughts dries up. He’s gotten better about clearing his mind in the past few months– probably necessary when you’re in a relationship with a mindreader. The concern is still there, as persistant as the sounds of traffic from outside, but it’s not active in his thoughts anymore. As much as he wants to know what’s going on with me, he’s not going to push me. And I appreciate that. I can’t even tell him how much that means to me. “So tell me, have you eaten?”

“I– no,” I say, and I glance at the fridge. I don’t think I’ve gotten groceries since before he left. “Do you want to go out?”

“That sounds nice.” 

* * *

I thought that a nice, normal dinner might calm him down, but it doesn’t. Right now I’m more tired than I am hungry, and the way I pick at my food is only making him suspicious– and when I try to act normal, he gets even more suspicious. He’s not putting together theories about what might actually be wrong, but only because he keeps stopping himself before those thoughts can get very far. 

He’s really not going to be able to let this go, is he?

Goddammit. 

And I’d managed to keep him from finding out about it for so long. I should have known I’d screw it up eventually.

I keep the conversation going until we finish dinner, but it’s a struggle for both of us. Thinking through Peter’s worry is like trying to wade through high water. Still, I manage to keep my mouth shut until we get in the car.

“I’m not sick, okay?” I say the moment he’s behind the wheel.

“Yes, you did say so.” He crushes the thought as soon as it arises, but I still get the gist: he thinks I’m lying. 

“I’m not. I haven’t been sleeping.” I don’t even need to read his mind to know how much that sounds like an excuse. 

“No?” he says politely.

Goddammit. “It’s the mindreading. It makes it hard to sleep. It’s easier when I’m with you, but when you’re gone, it’s just…” I shake my head. “But that’s all it is. Just give me a couple days to sleep it off, and I’ll be back to normal.” 

Maybe I sounded a little more believable that time, because his mind is going in directions I don’t want it to go. “I take it this isn’t the first time this has happened.” 

“No.”

“And the last time I left Hyperion City…” 

“Like I said, it’s fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

 _That answers that question._ And then he starts putting together plans, and that’s the last thing I wanted. 

“Peter, don’t.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he says lightly.

“A little insomnia isn’t going to kill me. I don’t want you to stop leaving town because of me.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s my decision to make.”

I’m scrambling. “It’s mine, too, isn’t it? If I’m fine with this, then that’s my right, isn’t it? It’s– it’s bad enough that you’re stuck on this planet because of me– I don’t want you to be trapped in this city, too.” 

I clamp my mouth shut. That wasn’t supposed to get out.

Peter frowns, and his brow furrows. “Juno, I don’t feel trapped.” 

“Not yet, maybe,” I mumble. “Listen, I can handle a few nights without sleep. What I can’t handle is putting you in a spot where you– where you’re going to start resenting me.” I hate putting it into words. It feels like I’m planting the idea in his head.

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” he says, and there’s a pause as he parks the car. The inside of his head is a jumble as he tries to put his thoughts in order. When he looks up at me, though, he’s sure. “Juno, I like our life together. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

“Not even your freedom?” I ask, raw.

He gives me an odd look. “Oh, come now, Juno. If I wanted to be _free_ of you, I’d have killed you already.” I’m pretty sure a normal person wouldn’t find that comforting, but I do– even more so than the kiss he presses into my forehead. “ But I don’t want that. Your trouble sleeping might give me another factor or two to take into consideration while I make arrangements, but it’s nothing insurmountable. Perhaps I’ll bring you with me.”

Six months ago, I would have insisted I couldn’t spare the time. By now, though, I know I won’t be good for much of anything until he’s back, anyway. 

“Actually, that sounds pretty nice.”


End file.
